


Wednesday Afternoon Tea

by hetzi_clutch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, also im sorry, basically a character study on the thirteenth doctor and how she deals with death, but sort of thasmin friendship, if you don't like main character death don't read, tea and penguins, thasmin, there's no plot at all it's just tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 19:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetzi_clutch/pseuds/hetzi_clutch
Summary: A death, once it's happened, can't be changed or undone. But a life can always do with a little reshuffling.(A character study on the Doctor, and how she deals with grief.)





	Wednesday Afternoon Tea

**Author's Note:**

> if you guys like yaz, you're all going to hate me for this.

_27 weeks before_

She was standing by the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil, when the door clicked open. Yaz looked up curiously, and not without a little worry—she hadn’t heard the jangle of keys—but when she saw who it was, she relaxed into a smile. “Oh hey, Doctor—you're early. Thought we were up for Saturday?”

“Oh, don't mind me Yaz. Just fancied some tea today. That’s alright by you, isn’t it?” Her voice was cheery, but didn’t quite match up to her expression. She stepped through the door with a smile so stiff it could crack, her eyes shining too bright. Her hands were alive with movement; they stuck in her pockets, then joined together, wringing anxiously. One of them appeared to be freshly bandaged, and Yaz eyed it worriedly.

“Doctor, are you alright?”

“Course I am Yaz, I’m the king of alrightness. Or rather, queen, I suppose. Why, do I look off?” Her smile dripped away suddenly, turned to uncertainty. Her hands found their way back to her pockets, and her gaze flickered over Yaz, and didn’t leave, though she didn’t quite meet her eyes.

Yaz shrugged. “Dunno. You just look a little…upset, I guess. Wanna talk about it?”

The Doctor looked her over, and smiled again, though it was nothing like the smile she’d had on before. It wasn’t fake, but sad, properly sad, and a little relieved, as if Yaz had struck on a question she didn’t mind answering. “Not really, no. Little incident a couple galaxies away, people who couldn’t be saved. The usual, you know, and—oh, now I am talking about it, aren’t I?”

She was looking sheepish, shoulders up to her ears and hands back in her pockets, but the gestures didn’t quite ring true. The panic was still there, that stiffness in her expression, and Yaz surveyed her for a moment. Dead silence hung between them.

Then she crossed over and swept the Doctor into a hug.

“Hey,” she said, and felt the Doctor stiffen, but only for a second before she relaxed. “How about I finish making tea and you decide if you want to tell me? And if not, I can tell you about some of my craziest parking disputes.”

And there was that momentary flinch again, but gone so fast Yaz could’ve imagined it. Then the Doctor laughed, only a little strained, and said, “I’d like that, Yaz. I really would. Tea on a Wednesday. That could be a thing, right?”

Yaz stepped back, and grinned. “Well if you announce it the next time, I’ll have an extra cup ready.”

_21 weeks before_

She didn’t announce her appearance on this particularly Wednesday, but simply burst in, something which Yaz generally didn’t mind—only she had just pulled a night shift, and though it was nearly four in the afternoon, she was far too unconscious to hear the pounding on the door, or the Doctor’s increasingly panicked yells once she’d let herself in.

“Yaz! Yaz! Where—oh, there you are.”

“Doctor?” Yaz lifted her head, eyes still half-closed, and looked towards the general direction of the doorway. She blinked twice, raised a hand to rub the sleep out of her eyes, and then squinted, trying to discern the figure standing in the door. “What are you—it’s not Saturday, is it?”

“No, course not, I just—” she broke off, for no apparent reason. Yaz sat up, rubbed her eyes again, and when she looked up realized the Doctor was staring. There was a strange look in her eye, something familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it because she had just woken up and her entire brain was muddy. She yawned and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

“Wait a minute, then—why are you here?” At this the Doctor’s face fell, and she quickly backtracked. “Not that I mind, but—don’t we usually do Saturdays?”

“Oh, ‘course we do Saturdays!” but there was something stinging about the way she said it, something bitter, and Yaz—Yaz was too tired to figure out what it was. “But I thought you didn’t mind Wednesdays either, once in a while. Why, is it a problem?”

“No, not really.” Yaz was still too groggy to figure out if it actually was a problem, but nothing was occurring to her. She doubted she would ever object to the Doctor’s company, even if it was just for tea, and even if she was in her pajamas and too disoriented to hold a conversation. She stifled another yawn. “Can’t say how much of a conversational partner I’ll be though. Just got off the night shift, so I’m afraid you’ll have to do most of the talking.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Yaz.” The Doctor’s eyes were bright again—and she suddenly recalled that same look, on another Wednesday several weeks back—and her smile was just a little bit sad, but it vanished in an instant. “You know I never have a problem talking. I’d talk even when people aren’t there, I reckon.”

“Yeah, you would wouldn’t you?” Yaz grinned, and then flipped her covers back and slid off her bed. “Alright, I’ll put the kettle on. No touching it, though, we don’t need another one that can actually sing.”

She’d thought the Doctor’s eyes would sparkle at this comment—she’d hoped, more like—but she just nodded, and grinned, that frozen grin she’d worn once before, and Yaz wondered what kind of trouble the Doctor had seen this time. She decided not to ask. The Doctor was a bit like a hermit crab; poke and prod, and she’d curl up in her shell. Leave well enough alone, and maybe after some time, and some tea, she’d poke her head out.

That suited Yaz perfectly fine. She’d always liked hermit crabs.

_17 weeks before_

“So, what brings you here this specific Wednesday?” Yaz peered over her mug, eyebrows raised in question, and waited for the Doctor’s answer.

“Can’t I just get some tea with my best mate?” the Doctor grinned, a very convincing grin, and took a deep swig out of her mug. Then she grimaced.

“Too hot?” Yaz asked, as the Doctor swallowed her tea and nodded. Tears sprung to the corners of her eyes.

“Might have been a little overenthusiastic, yeah.”

“Well you’ve been here enough times to know that we don’t just do warm tea here in the Khan household.” Yaz’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and she took another dainty sip of her own tea. “If it’s not hot, it’s not worth it.”

“I think you mean boiling,” the Doctor grumbled, but she took another, more tentative sip this time. 

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“Mmmm. Dunno. Once my taste buds come back, I’ll let you know.” 

Yaz laughed, and set her own cup down on its saucer. “Okay, Doctor, so what is it?”

Immediately, the Doctor’s expression shuttered. “What is what?”

Yaz gestured between the two of them, to the two mugs on the table. Wisps of steam curled slowly off the surface of the liquid, and dissipated into the air. “The Wednesday thing. The Wednesday tea thing. Not that I mind you dropping 'round, of course, but whenever I ask you never give me a straight answer.”

The Doctor’s mouth curled down. “Do you need an answer?”

“Well—” Yaz tilted her head. “Suppose not, I guess. It’s just—you always seem sort of sad, when you come ‘round on Wednesdays. And it worries me. Because on Saturdays you seem fine.”

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, an unreadable expression upon her face. Then she shrugged. “It’s really nothing, Yaz. Sometimes, when you’re not around, I try and….do some fixing up around the universe, guess you could call it. Sometimes it doesn’t go so well. So it’s nice to come back and have a cuppa, try not to think about things.”

“Oh.” Yaz dropped her gaze to the table. She stared at the lines in the wood, and felt awkward suddenly, for all her probing questions. “I guess that makes sense. Only…don’t you want to talk about it?”

She lifted her gaze to meet the Doctor’s eyes as she finished her sentence, and for a moment caught something— _wistful?_ —in her gaze. Then it was gone, and what remained was a carefully tidied look of discomfort. “Not really, no. I’ve lived a long time, Yaz. I’ve done a lot of things. Sometimes I just want to forget, you know? Focus on the good, rather than the bad. Like tea.”

Yaz didn’t really know, to be honest. She couldn’t recall something she’d want to forget, even her worst experiences from high school. How could she ever want to forget? All of it together made her the person she was, no matter how terrible. But she nodded, because it wasn’t her life they were talking about, but the Doctor’s, and she didn’t really have the room to tell her what to forget, or why. “Okay. I get that, I think. So you’d rather we talk about something else, then?”

The Doctor nodded, relieved. “Yeah, actually. Say, did I ever tell you about the time I…”

As she launched into another (admittedly interesting) story with growing enthusiasm, Yaz leaned forward and placed her chin in her palm to listen, and shuffled whatever the Doctor wasn’t saying to the back of her mind. But she didn’t forget about it. And the next time, she determined, that the Doctor came in looking all mopey and depressed, Yaz would do whatever she could to drag it out of her. It was the least she could do, as a friend. 

Because whatever the Doctor was going through, she didn’t deserve to go through it alone.

_14 weeks before_

“No, no, no!” the Doctor’s foot shot out and collided with the underside of the TARDIS console. It beeped, offended, but did nothing she’d asked it to, and a moment later, pain rocketed through her foot. The Doctor leapt back and began to hop, cursing.

“Ow, ow, ow—”

After several long moments the pain subsided, and the Doctor gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. It throbbed dully, but there was no more sharp pain. She took a tentative step, then whirled around to face the console, glaring.

“You have to let me!”

The TARDIS said nothing, but her dead silence answered well enough. _I don’t have to do anything._

“No, you can’t do this, I checked the dates, it’ll be fine, I’ve _made sure—_ ”

A series of clearly negative beeps rang out. Without thinking, the Doctor brought her fist down upon the console. “C’mon!”

Pain exploded through her knuckles, and she flinched, yanking her hand away from the console. When she pulled it back to examine, it was bloody, the knuckles split open. She wrung it out, face screwed up in pain, and listened to the reproaching silence of the TARDIS.

“You’re—this is utterly insane! I’m a Time Lord, I should be able to do whatever I want—”

A shock of electricity, come from the floor of the TARDIS itself, sent her feet flying out from under her. The Doctor landed on her back, felt all the air go out of her, and for several long seconds didn’t move. She just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, and felt the TARDIS’s righteous, angry silence pressing into her.

After several moments, she spoke, in a voice heavy with defeat. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, and wincing, she heaved herself to her feet, by help of the controls on the TARDIS console. Then she collapsed over it, aching all over, and lowered her head against the cool surface. Beneath her cheek, she felt the soft thrum of the TARDIS’s inner workings, felt her shared pain and sympathy, her echoing ache—but more than that, underneath it all, sensed a quiet stubbornness.

“You’re right, I guess.” The Doctor sighed, closing her eyes. Then she opened them again and raised her head, looking up at the central pillar of the console. “When can I go next, then?”

The TARDIS beeped, affirming at last, and flashed a date on her screens. The Doctor eyed it, painfully, and then reached out and pulled the lever.

_7 weeks before_

“So why is it again you only do Wednesdays when you’re depressed?”

The Doctor jerked up so fast she nearly spilled her tea. “Why would you think that?”

Yaz blinked at her reaction. “Well, ‘cos of that for one thing. I know I ask this a lot, but you sure you’re okay, Doctor?”

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, and then looked down at her tea, but didn’t answer. Her hands were wrapped around the mug for warmth, but her knuckles were white, and, Yaz noticed, cracked. They had obviously been cleaned of blood not too long ago. “Do you want some antibacterial for that?”

The Doctor looked up again, confusion flitting across her face, until she saw where Yaz’s gaze was pointed. “Oh, no this is nothing, I—well, never mind. But antibacterial isn’t good for me anyway, or at least not your kind. And they’re not infected, I would know.”

“…Okay.” Yaz’s doubt sat heavy in the silence. The Doctor was studying her again, a slight crease between her brow and her mouth curved into a frown, though she didn’t seem angry. She seemed as if she were trying to memorize something. 

“Doctor. Doctor—” Yaz waved a hand in front of her face, and she startled, her gaze flickering up to meet Yaz’s. Finally, Yaz noted. She hadn’t been doing that much throughout their conversation. “Something you want to talk about?”

The Doctor opened her mouth, started to say something, and then stopped and closed it again. Then she smiled, one of those mismatching smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re pretty good at reading people, aren’t you Yaz?”

“Well, I am a police officer.” Yaz settled back in her chair and returned her smile. At least now she was getting _something._ Maybe this time—as opposed to the last—she would have more success. “Maybe I could be a detective.”

And just like that, the smile fell from the Doctor’s face. “Maybe.”

And then she didn’t say anything, and Yaz couldn’t figure out what she’d done wrong. So she tried again. “Okay, c’mon Doctor. I make you tea every Wednesday you come,” —she gestured towards their mugs, her own rapidly cooling— “Now I’m putting a meter on it.”

The Doctor’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “Putting a meter on—?”

“Exactly.” Yaz grinned. “Every cup I make you, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. And yours is pretty much empty, so how about I make you another and then you can tell me why you look like somebody just killed your cat?”

The Doctor cringed at her use of words, and Yaz hurried to correct herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—did somebody actually kill your cat? Do you have a cat?”

“No, no I—” she stopped, and swallowed. Something in her face set. “No, but I do know some cat people, actually. Nurses in New New York. Very wonderful people, really, but I went to visit them this week, and I found they’ve been using poor lab-grown clones to test medicine, which is obviously unethical, so I—”

And she continued, explaining to Yaz how she’d gotten the nurses to stop and reversed their work, only it was still sitting with her, knowing what they’d done, and that was why she’d come to visit Yaz, who always cheered her up. Yaz listened, entranced, and not more than a little embarrassed at the last part, and was so invested in the story that she forgot entirely to brew the Doctor another cup of tea.

And it was only much later, hours after the Doctor had left, that Yaz realized she had been completely distracted from prying whatever it was the Doctor was holding so close to her chest, out into the open.

_3 weeks before_

Yaz heard the TARDIS wheeze outside her apartment, and had the kettle on by the time the Doctor burst through her door. It was a Wednesday, so she was already bracing herself for morose looks and abrupt conversation changes, but when the door flew open, with the Doctor not even bothering to knock, Yaz found that she didn’t appear depressed at all.

“C’mon, Yaz!” the Doctor grabbed her hand and had her halfway to the door before Yaz managed to react. 

“Wait, Doctor, I just started the tea!”

“Oh, forget the tea, we’re going to do something fun today!” her voice was incredibly cheerful, the kind that Yaz only heard when the Doctor was trying very hard to lie. So she dug her heels into the carpet and yanked her hand out of her grip, using it instead to cross her arms. 

“Alright, Doctor, what is it?”

The Doctor stopped, and turned around, her face the picture of innocence. She put her hands up in front of her. “What is what?”

Yaz didn’t yield. Instead she narrowed her eyes into a suspicious glare. “You acting all cheerful and happy when I know it’s a Wednesday and you’re never happy on Wednesdays.”

“Psshh, that’s nonsense! I’ve got nothing against Wednesdays, Yaz, though I’m starting to think you might.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, and she leaned in close. “Do you have something against Wednesdays?”

Her gaze was wide-eyed and her voice sincere, so much so that Yaz almost wavered. Almost. “Nice try, Doctor, but I’m not leaving my flat until you tell me what’s going on.”

She used her best police voice on this one, working in all the confidence and authority she’d managed to muster over her time settling parking disputes. It seemed to be paying off, because the Doctor looked at her for a moment, as if trying to surmise the extent of her stubbornness, and then sagged.

“Okay, fine. I—I—” And then her voice cracked and dropped off completely, as if she were unable to speak. It was something Yaz had never seen with the Doctor before, and the shock of it caught her completely unawares. “Do I—do I have to explain things, Yaz? I know humans love to talk it out, but us Time Lords, see—we’d rather just live in the moment, focus on what’s right in front of us.”

“Um…” Yaz stared, unsure of what to say. All of a sudden, she felt like an idiot. It was clear that whatever was affecting the Doctor was something serious, because she had that brittle smile on again, and her eyes were shining too bright, and it suddenly occurred to her that last few times the Doctor had been bright-eyed and smiling too hard might have been because she was holding back tears. “Okay. And I’m sorry, I suppose I didn’t think that Time Lords prefer things differently, which is sort of stupid of me, actually—”

The Doctor was already shaking her head. “Not stupid Yaz, not stupid at all. Just kind. Have I told you that before? That you’re kind.”

“Um…no. You usually just call me brilliant. Which is great too.” She tacked on the last bit hastily, and was relieved to see a slow smile spread over the Doctor’s face. It still didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was much preferable to the frightening cheeriness she’d had when she’d bounded into the apartment. 

“Only cos you are.” The Doctor’s smile was lopsided, as if she couldn’t quite get it all there, but Yaz figured that was okay. She clearly needed a distraction, and Yaz was perfectly willing to provide one. Confessions, she decided, could wait for another day. One when the Doctor wasn’t so obviously emotionally fraught.

“Okay, so where are we going? And keep in mind, we probably have different definitions of the word _fun._ ”

This time, the Doctor’s grin _did_ reach her eyes. “Oh, we definitely don’t. C’mon, Yaz, we’re going to the zoo!”

And then she grabbed Yaz’s hand once more and yanked her right through the door, leaving Yaz no time to protest—though really, she wouldn’t have. She hadn’t visited the zoo in ages, but she figured that of all the people she’d want to do a return trip with, it would be the Doctor.

————

They ended up spending the entire afternoon there, and Yaz actually had to call her dad to tell her she’d be home late. When she finished her call, she turned around and spotted the Doctor, her back to her as she gazed at some exhibit which, as she sidled up next to her, turned out to be penguins.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” she asked the Doctor, watching the penguins waddle around several meters below. They seemed to be having fun, playing and poking about. When the Doctor didn’t answer, she turned to face her, and nearly gasped.

“Doctor, are you okay?” It was a dumb question, in retrospect, because the Doctor was clearly not okay. She was crying, actually crying, something Yaz had never seen her do before, even though it was only a few tears tracking silently down her face.

The Doctor looked at her, and gave a watery smile, which didn’t work at all. “Yeah, Yaz, I’m—oh, am I crying?”

She reached up to brush a tear away, and looked at the wetness on her fingers in surprise. “Sorry, really didn’t expect that. I’m not a crier, you know.”

“I know.” Yaz was still staring at the Doctor, worry in her eyes and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She wasn’t quite sure how to comfort a crying Time Lord, especially if that Time Lord wouldn’t divulge exactly why she was crying. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about—”

She gestured helplessly towards the Doctor, who had already turned back to the exhibit, though Yaz could still see the tears making their way down her face. The Doctor brought the sleeve of her coat up and began to wipe at them roughly, but didn’t respond.

And the sleeve was not holding up to its task. The tears began to soak through as Yaz watched, so she rummaged around in her pockets for a hanky, but found nothing. “Sorry, I don’t have—”

“Oh, it’s fine.” The Doctor was sniffling now, but she let out a quiet laugh, almost to herself. She still wasn’t looking at Yaz. “I’m just looking at the penguins. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Yaz followed her gaze. “I don’t know. Cute maybe. Ugly-cute. But they’re kind of small and mangy, aren’t they?”

The Doctor laughed again, a little more natural this time. “Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they’re not beautiful, Yaz. They’re called little penguins. Native to Australia, if I remember correctly. Everything about them’s tiny, right down to their life spans. They don’t live very long, see, compared to other penguins.”

Was it her imagination, or was there something bitter in the way her mouth twisted on the last part?

“Don’t they?” Yaz tore her gaze away from the penguins, and looked for the sign, placed only meter away from them. “Yeah, you’re right. Six years. Wow, that really isn’t that much at all.”

“No, it’s not.” The Doctor’s gaze was still fixed on the penguins down below. The tears had dried on her face, but her eyes were shining bright again, and Yaz wondered how she’d ever missed what that had meant. 

“Still, though,” she tried, suddenly desperate to put a good spin on the increasingly depressing path the conversation was veering down. “They probably don’t think about that, do they? It probably seems like a lot to them. Six years can be a long time, if you do it right. Heck, any time can be a long time if you do it right.”

And suddenly, she wasn’t talking about the penguins anymore, only she didn’t know what she _was_ talking about. She watched the Doctor’s face, wondering if she’d said the right thing, wondering what she was _supposed_ to say, and had almost thought she’d gone and messed it up, but then the Doctor turned and flung her arm over her shoulders, pulling her into a surprisingly tight one-armed hug. For a moment Yaz didn’t know what to do, but then the Doctor’s head sank onto her shoulder, and she decided that whatever it was she was doing, it seemed to be what the Doctor needed.

“Let’s stay here for a while, yeah?” the Doctor’s voice sounded close to her ear, but she spoke so quietly that she still had to strain to make it out.

“Of course, Doctor. If you want. But the zoo closes soon, I think.”

“Just a little while longer.”

Her voice was soft, and pleading in a way Yaz had never heard before. She hesitated, but only barely, and then moved just a little bit closer so she could rest her own head against the Doctor’s shoulder. No sense in wasting a good hug, she figured. Especially since the Doctor wasn’t usually much of a hugger.

“Sure, Doctor. However long you like.”

_4 days before_

“Ah, and so she appears.” Yaz was already standing right outside the TARDIS, already smiling, as the doors clicked open and the Doctor poked her head out. “How is it you’re always on time on Saturdays and Wednesdays, but you never manage to land us in the spot we want to go?”

The Doctor grinned in response, and stepped fully outside the TARDIS. “Well I can’t be that good at steering if I get you back on a Wednesday. Have you just been too shy to tell me until now?”

“Huh?” Yaz’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “No, Doctor, you always get me back fine. Surprisingly. I’m talking about when you come on Wednesdays.”

She followed the Doctor inside as she spoke, and up to the console. The Doctor was clearly excited about their planned outing, she could tell, because she was only half-listening as she bent over the controls, mumbling to herself. “Sorry, what? When do I come on Wednesdays?”

“On Wednesdays,” Yaz repeated, and couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow. “Doctor, are you telling me you don’t remember any of the times you come to have tea with me? And here I was thinking you liked coming to my flat for a cuppa.”

“Oh, I do!” the Doctor reassured her, and for a moment Yaz thought she had made a mistake, that the Doctor had only briefly forgotten, but then she looked up again and her face was sympathetic. “Sorry, Yaz, but that’s probably a future me thing. I don’t always come back in the right order, you know. But I would love to come over for tea sometime, if that’s alright with you.”

“’Course it’s alright,” Yaz said, but she was still frowning thoughtfully. “Hang on—so I probably shouldn’t mention it, right? Paradox and all that.”

“Well, doesn’t hurt to be safe.” The Doctor twisted one final knob and then looked up, her hand already moving towards the take-off lever. “Ready?”

Yaz smiled, and gripped the console. “Ready.”

The Doctor grinned, so wide it nearly split her face, and pulled the lever down.

_3 days after_

The Doctor sat at the kitchen table, her hands warming around a cup of tea. The other mug sat across from her, and she could tell by the slowly diminishing wisps of steam rising up that it was getting cool. She would have to replace it soon. It wouldn’t do to have cold tea. Not at Yaz’s.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here, technically. The family was all gone, left for the—well, they’d be getting back soon, and they surely wouldn’t be happy to find the Doctor broken into their flat, using their kettle to make a cup of tea.

But it was cold, in the kitchen. And In the entire flat, really, which was why she’d made the tea. She couldn’t tell if it was herself or the thermostat that was off. Maybe she could fix it before they got home. Unless it was her own internal temperature which was off, something she couldn’t entirely rule out. She’d been feeling very cold the last few days—almost frozen.

She raised her eyebrows at the cooling mug across from her. “Sort of offensive, that you’re not drinking. I made this tea myself. Well, I used your kettle, but it turned out alright, didn’t it?”

The mug didn’t answer. Neither did the chair across from her. The Doctor shook her head in mock disappointment. “See, you’d know if you’d take a sip.”

To prove her point, she raised her own glass to her lips and took a shaky sip. Her hand was trembling when she set it down, sending the cup rattling against the saucer. Funny, but her hands had been trembling yesterday too—and the day before. They'd started with the news and—well, they hadn't stopped yet. She wondered when they would. 

“You know what’s odd?” she cocked her head at the silent mug across from her. “That you didn’t pull this on a Saturday. I mean, with me, I could understand. I can’t half-pilot the TARDIS, I’ll admit that, and she sends us into sticky situations more often than not. I wouldn’t be…surprised, if it were a Saturday. A Saturday makes sense. We run around the whole universe on Saturdays.”

The mug still wasn’t answering. The Doctor paused, and took another wobbly sip from her cup. When she set it down, it clattered violently. 

“But you….why’d you have to go and do it on a Wednesday?” she shook her head again. “It doesn’t make sense, Yaz. Wednesdays are nothing. They don’t matter. They’re stupid, and illogical, and—and I don’t get it Yaz, I really don’t get it.”

Abruptly she leaned forward across the table and stretched her arms out in front of her, her palms pressed against the table. “You’re—” her voice cracked, and she stopped. Then tried again. “Y-you’re a logical person, Yaz, and—and you’re quick too. So why a Wednesday? Why not a Saturday, when I could’ve been there, and I could’ve—”

She broke off, staring at the mug across from her. Steam no longer issued from the surface. It had cooled completely down as she spoke. Which meant she’d have to go and brew another one.

But instead she leaned back into her chair, and picked up her own cup of tea, frowning in disappointment. “You let your tea get cold, Yaz. I told you to drink it, and y-you—you let it get cold.”

Her words were shaking now, as well as her hands, and she tried to take a sip but couldn’t manage it, so she dropped the cup back down on the saucer—and startled as it shattered, pieces flying in every direction. Tea flecked her coat, and what little remained in the cup spilled out over the saucer, pooling in the shattered remains of the glass.

The Doctor stared at it for several seconds, frozen.

“Oh, silly me,” she breathed, and looked up at the mug across from her, which was getting hard to see, because her vision was blurring, and something wet was sliding down her cheek. She tried to smile, but it ended up as wobbly as the rest of her, so she settled for shaking her head. “Silly me, I’ve gone and broken your cup. I’m so sorry Yaz, I’ll replace it as soon as I can. You don’t mind waiting, do you?”

She looked at the mug expectantly, as if waiting for an answer. When only silence came, her smile dropped, then twisted into a scowl.

“Well, fine, don’t answer me. Least you could do, after sitting there silent the whole time, not even drinking my tea. You won’t even tell me if you like it. Can’t you at least tell me if you like it?”

When the silence continued, her scowl twisted deeper, her voice rising. “Okay, I get it, I broke your cup. So you’re not going to talk to me, is that it? Just leave me sitting here, after that stupid stunt _you_ went and pulled—damn it, Yaz, you’re lucky I even came around for tea!”

The mug sat there, unresponsive, but the Doctor went on, her voice growing louder with each word. “Because it was stupid, you know that? It’s a whole stupid profession, the policing business, but I didn’t think I had to worry, did I? You were in parking disputes, Yaz! Parking disputes!”

Her fist came down, making the table jump. Sharp glass sliced into her hand, but she barely noticed. “It’s not even dangerous! It’s not supposed to be dangerous, you’re just supposed to be dealing with—with nothing, that’s all! You’re not supposed to jump in when people start arguing, you’re not supposed to get yourself involved when some idiot pulls a—!”

She stopped, breathing hard. Her cheeks were still wet and her vision still blurry, and her hand hurt, and she couldn’t figure out why, until she unclenched her fist and felt the glass embedded in her skin. The mug sat across from her, implacable as ever.

The Doctor glared at it for several moments, and then deflated, sagging into her chair. Her eyes ran over the kitchen table, absently noting the mess she’s made. Yaz would be angry—or no, she’d understand, especially if the Doctor explained the extenuating circumstances. And she would clean it up, besides.

But she didn’t jump to cleaning it up immediately. She just stared blankly at that mug, that silly, obstinate mug, who’d decided to remain cheekily silent throughout the entire conversation. Hadn’t said a single word, rudely enough, but just left the Doctor to carry on the conversation by herself.

And then the Doctor’s expression wrenched, and she collapsed onto the table, oblivious to the glass, and burrowed her head into her arms. It occurred to her that she was acting a little mad, talking to a mug. What had she even expected to hear, really? The whole set-up she’d made, the two cups of tea, the empty chair; it was off, completely unnatural. None of it made sense, just like Yaz’s ridiculous stunt didn’t make sense. She and Yaz didn’t often have tea, for one thing. And they met on Saturdays, not on Wednesdays, because Wednesdays were boring. She’d never liked Wednesdays, anyway.

The Doctor raised her head slightly, and peeked over her arms at the mug. She sucked in a deep breath. When she let it out, all of her air rushed out with it, leaving her completely hollow and frail as a leaf in the wind. And the mug, that stupid, silent, unmoving mug, sat across the table, mocking _her_ absence.

She should never have put it there. Not without the person behind it. It didn’t make sense, just as so many things suddenly didn’t make sense, and now she would never get the chance to make them into sense, because she had run out of time. No more Yaz, no more Saturdays, only endless, dreary, terrible Wednesdays, stretching forever into the future. 

….Or stretching back.

The Doctor’s mouth fell open in shock. She jerked upright in her chair, and her gaze locked onto the mug.

_“Yaz.”_ she whispered it, for fear she would extinguish the idea if she spoke too loud. “Oh Yaz, brilliant, fantastic Yaz—you told me, didn’t you?”

The mug didn’t answer, but the Doctor had stopped looking at it. She leaped to her feet, and spun around, disregarding the mess on the table. “Oh, Yaz, I could kiss you right now!”

She whirled back to face the table, and jabbed a finger at the mug, ignoring the pain which streaked through her hand. “Wednesdays, isn’t it? That’s what you said? Oh Yaz, you beautiful, wonderful girl—you gave me just enough time to say goodbye, didn’t you?”

Her eyes were sparkling again with tears, but she refused to let them spill over. She was dancing around the room now, sweeping glass into the trashcan and snagging a towel to wipe up the tea, and when she finished she bounded to the door and pulled it open, then turned to take one last look back. Her eyes were still bright, filmed with tears that she couldn’t quite let fall, and they found the mug on the table, sitting as silent and inanimate as ever. 

“Wednesdays, huh?” she smiled, sniffling, and knew it would crack the instant Yaz asked what was bothering her. “And tea, too. Right. Well, Yaz—I suppose we’ve got a couple more Wednesdays to steal, don’t we?”

And then she turned and disappeared out into the hallway, leaving the door to swing shut behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> what do you call this? angst-fluff? fluff-angst? flangst? idek, but somehow even when im trying to be angsty i end up inserting fluff so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
